


Trapped

by flawsinthevoodoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Pack Bonding, Run!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawsinthevoodoo/pseuds/flawsinthevoodoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is kidnapped the Pack fights to save him as he fights to save himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> This is another part of the same verse as Run! and comes before it chronologically.

Stiles peeled his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights , and raised a hand to block out their glare. Well, he tried to but found himself jerking against ropes knotted tightly around his wrists matching neatly with the ones securing his legs and torso to the chair. Seeing that two well-built men in leather were lounging on the other side of the room dispassionately watching his struggle to get free, Stiles froze, and his smartass mouth took control for a second. 

"So do all hunters shop in the same places or do they just buy in bulk from Psycho-Killers-R-Us and send it out with the mailing list? Because I'm really beginning to suspect—"

"Shut. Up." Bit out the taller of the two men. 

"You call us psycho killers, kid?" Said the shorter one, who looked a tad bit like a rat to Stiles."Take a look at who you spend your time with and try that one again. We're the monster hunters, we protect people. The real killers? Those you have dinner with every Friday."

Stiles could not help but laugh at this.  
"You think you're protecting people? So tell me who exactly are you protecting by kidnapping a 17 year old human kid? What are you protecting them from? B.O.?"

Stiles really did have more material for that rant but his jaw was slammed shut by the impact of the shorter man's open palm on his face delivering a slap that echoed throughout the room. He tasted blood from where he bit into his tongue and raised his face back toward the hunters again. 

"What do you want fro-" Another slap. 

"Stop talking. We will ask you questions and you will answer them. You will say nothing else. Understood?"

Stiles sat in silence, his face blank, his mind racing to assess the room. One door in or out. Steel with a combination lock. Concrete floor, drain in the center. Walls lined with metal instruments ranging from pliers to things that would look more at home in a dentist's office. This was a murder room. The two men perusing the selection of tools on the walls exuded confidence and moved with an easy familiarity. They had clearly done this before. Shit. He was well and truly fucked this time. This was not his first kidnapping, but this was the first time that Stiles had not been sure who exactly had taken him. He didn’t know these men and Allison hadn't told them about any new hunters coming to town but the way they moved and talked was unmistakable.. They were hunters. Hunters who had gone after the soft, gooey, human center of the pack. Great.  
The sound of a third slap echoed off the walls. 

"Do. You. Understand?" the rat man had gotten up close and personal while Stiles had zoned out. His breath, not the freshest, pretty tic-tac worthy, was hot and moist across Stiles' face.  
"Oh, was I supposed to be able to talk now, that wasn't really clea-" The rat man's hand wrapped around Stiles' neck, slowly crushing his windpipe until the taller of the two called out in an languid drawl.

"Let him go, Vince, he has to be able to talk to give us information." Vince, that was the rat man's name. Duly noted. When he didn't move immediately, the nameless one prowled forward and peeled Vince's fingers off Stiles' neck .

Before pulling away Vince smiles nastily at Stiles "You want to pay close attention boy. While you are in this room, we are god. You will do what we say and nothing else. No one knows where you are, no one is going to save you. Your pack doesn't even know you're missing. So when we come back tomorrow, you better have thought this over and decided to be more cooperative. Yeah?"

Stiles gathered up the saliva to spit in his face but the tall one must have crept up behind him because suddenly the room was blocked out by a bag over his head. Though the sounds were muffled, Stiles could still hear as the two men unlocked the door and left. 

******************************************************************

Three days. It had been three day since he had been kidnapped, or at least Stiles thought it had been three days but after they broke his watch during the session on the second day it could have been much longer. Stiles had fought them the first day and the second, but today had been overwhelming, the hunters were starting to bring their Crazy Kate Argent A Game and there was no way a human, even one as well trained as Stiles, was going to survive this much longer. 

*******************************************************************************

Stiles had grown to hate the sound of the combination lock turning to admit his torturers. It was always the same two, Vince and the nameless one. Today, they went with electricity. Stiles had acquired the skill over the past few days—maybe he had always had it—of completely disconnecting himself from what was happening to his body. Stiles had hoped they had lied to him that first day and the pack was searching for him, but as this session drew to a close and they removed the dirty rag they had used to muffle his screams, Stiles realized that they weren't coming for him. He wasn't pack enough for them to care, he wasn't worth it. It was that night --at least he thought it was night-- that they left the bag off and Stiles spied his knives, a precious gift from Derek, hanging on the wall across from him. Stiles clenched his teeth and determinedly set his shoulders. He was going to get out. He twisted his fingers around, testing them for range of movement, and began worrying at the knots that bound him.

*************************************************************************************

Stiles' lips peeled back in a rictus grin, revealing blood on his teeth that, given the fight a moment ago, could belong to him or either of the two men bleeding out on the floor.  
"I didn't tell you bastards anything," he snarled. "I didn't tell you a damn thing."

Still riding the adrenaline and fueled by his rage, Stiles felt the impact of his foot connecting with the closest now dead hunter's ribs. Hearing the satisfying crunch, he did it again and again, all the while chanting "I told you nothing."

At the end of his rope, he could not stop the laughter that bubbled up past his lips. He guessed all of those drills had done some good after all, because here he was in a locked room with two dead hunters. Still laughing uncontrollably, he collapsed down to the ground, ignoring the still-warm blood as it soaked through his pants and boxers. That was how Isaac found him nearly an hour later, sitting on the blood- coated concrete floor, rocking back and forth, producing a gurgling whine of a laugh.  
Isaac entered the room careful to make noise and not be a "creeper wolf" as Stiles often complained they all are. It wouldn't have mattered if he had entered completely silently or if he had brought a herd of elephants. Stiles couldn't hear him over the noise of the memories being replayed in his head.  
Aware of the time crunch he was operating under—the Argents would be there in just under ten minutes—Isaac shot off a quick mass text to the rest of the pack, letting them know their human had been found.

Unsure of his welcome, Isaac reached out tentatively to rest his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, being certain to approach from the front where Stiles could see him. In the soothing voice that he used on the animals at Dr. Deaton's office, Isaac attempted to bring Stiles back into the present.

"Stiles, buddy, I need you to listen to me. Stiles? Hey, you with me big guy?"

Nothing Isaac said seemed to have gotten through to Stiles who still stared sightlessly past Isaac.  
Unable to wait any longer, Isaac bent down and scooped Stiles up like he weighed less than nothing, which after about a week of torture at the hands of those hunters wasn't too far off the mark. Unconsciously Isaac let a low growl rumble out at the thought of those hunters messing with their Stiles, his pack, his friend. At sound of the growl Stiles jerked almost upright in his arms, recognition dawning in his sunken, bruised, tear-bright eyes. 

"Isaac?" he croaked out, wincing as his abused vocal cords throbbed in protest.

"You're safe, Stiles. We're getting you out of here. You're safe. Just rest now, let yourself rest."

Stiles pulled Isaac's head down closer to his lips to whisper, wild panic in his eyes, urgency coloring his voice. "I didn't tell them anything, Isaac. They asked and asked and I didn't tell them anything."

Isaac felt his heart break a little more in that moment, seeing Stiles so hurt, so broken, still desperate to maintain his place in the pack, so sure that the only important thing was that he didn't divulge anything. Isaac fought to keep that thought from his face, knowing Stiles would see it as pity and hate it instantly. 

"Shhh, don't worry, Stiles, we know you didn't-"

"Derek-"

"Derek knows you protected the pack, our pack. We all know. It’s okay to relax now, you're safe."

Stiles, still a little disbelieving, nonetheless let his head fall onto Isaac’s shoulder, where he proceeded to pass out.  
It took five minutes and few wrong turns taken for Isaac to reach the exit. Waiting just outside, impatient and prowling were the rest of the pack. As he exited, deftly avoiding the remains of the door he had demolished on his way in, Isaac was accosted by his alpha and Scott as they checked Stiles over for injuries.

Leaving his alpha to assess the damage, Scott turned to Isaac asking omega amber suffusing his gaze "Where are the people who did this to him?"

"They were dead when I got there. I think he beat them to death with a chair." Isaac admitted in a low whisper Then, making defiant eye contact with his alpha he said "He wouldn't relax enough to rest until he made sure you knew he didn't tell them anything."

At this Derek surged forward, half-changed, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of red, and pulled Stiles from Isaac's arms making a mournful noise at the limp bruised body now in his arms. Cradling his precious cargo, he turned towards the surrounding woods and began to lope back to the Hale house.

************************************************************************************

Stiles woke in an unfamiliar room unsure how he got there for the second time in two weeks. Fortunately, this one seemed to come with better customer service and a comfortable bed. A comfortable bed that was occupied--completely covered, really-- in his pack, who had contorted themselves into some truly impressive positions in a bid to get everyone on the bed without crushing Stiles. A slight smile rose to his lips to match the warm and fuzzy feeling filling his chest at the realization that they had all placed themselves between him and the entrances to the room, even Lydia and Danny the other human pack members. He uttered what he would deny to his dying day was a squeak when seconds later his warm pillow shifted and rumbled out in a what Stiles had termed Derek's "long suffering alpha" tone.

"Go back to sleep, Stiles. I just got them all to sleep for the first time in days. Do. Not. Wake them up." 

Stiles really did want to fall back asleep, but as he fell back into position in what Lydia had aptly named "the pack pile" he couldn't chase out his feeling of unrest. Derek, seeing that he had not returned to his peaceful slumber, sighed.

"What's wrong?" 

"I don't know, I feel like something is wrong, something is missing... "

Eyes widening, Derek flung his arm off the side of the bed. There was the sound of rustling plastic and suddenly stiles felt something cool and metal being pressed into his hand. His knives. Those two matching blades, hand etched with runes, handles made of mountain ash and blade rubbed weekly with wolfsbane and other nasty concoctions, had been his constant companion for the past year. He still fondly remembers the night Derek had appeared in his window long after the sun had set, in typical creeper wolf fashion and dropped a poorly wrapped package on his desk. Written in sharpie across the front was "All pack members should have claws and teeth," and inside had been those two knives. That had been the first time Derek had called him pack, and Stiles had begun carrying them as a symbol to himself both that he was part of the pack and for protection against the constant threats of the world of werewolves. The week that he had been held hostage had been the first time he wasn't in contact with the knives and he had felt so helpless, so disconnected from the pack. That thought made him angry now, and as if sensing this in his sleep, Scott snuggled closer to Stiles' side. Derek began rubbing a hand over Stiles shoulders in an attempt to remove their memory-born tension, 

"You are always pack Stiles. Nothing anyone can do can take you from us. You. Are. Pack."

At those words Stiles smiled and handed the knives back to Derek who took them looking perplexed.

"I'll put them back on in the morning." Stiles told him, still grinning. 

The gentle thunk of the knives being placed on the bedside table were some of the last sounds he heard as he leaned back into his pack’s embrace, letting the familiar sounds and warmth of slumbering werewolves carry him to sleep.


End file.
